


Hollow As A Bone

by foxtales



Series: Permanently Unfinished [12]
Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Human Stig, M/M, OR IS IT, Panic Attacks, Penis And Arse Biscuit Car, Richard Hammond's Crash, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23186143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxtales/pseuds/foxtales
Summary: The boys have finished the 24 hour Endurance Race at Silverstone. Hammond has a panic attack, help comes from someone he never expected. This fragment contains ALL THE FEELS. ALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL of them.
Relationships: Richard Hammond/James May, Richard Hammond/The Stig
Series: Permanently Unfinished [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1638784
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Hollow As A Bone

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally being written between 2007 and 2008 and I remember clutching all the plot strings to my chest, screaming and crying endlessly over it with giddy_london, duckduck, and pippinmctaggart. GDI self. =/
> 
> Title from the Cowboy Junkies song of the same name.

He watched, silent as always, whilst Jeremy made the rounds of the bay, shaking hands, giving the thumbs-up and pounding backs and shoulders as laughter and celebration flowed around them all. Victory looked good on Clarkson - it always did. Whilst they hadn't come in first, they'd finished and hadn't come in last, not even last in class. That was more than any of them had expected, more than any _one_ had expected of the Top Gear Penis and Arse Biscuit car. He ran one gloved hand down the side of the car-that-could, thanking it silently for having more mechanical heart than any other vehicle out on Silverstone. He glanced around, spotting James by Jeremy and wondering where the third member of the team was. He'd seen Hammond a few minutes ago, but once Clarkson had taken over the room as he was wont to do, Richard had apparently stolen away. Behind his visor, one of the Stig's eyebrows rose.

***

Richard stood in the small upstairs office and took deep, shaky breaths, trying to suppress his irrational fear again. He would _not_ let it take him over; he hadn't let it earlier just after his accident on the track and he wasn't about to let it win now when the danger - for _all_ of them - was over. His breath started coming faster and he knew he was losing the battle. His hands clenched into fists, nails digging into skin to try to get a handle on himself but it wasn't working. His next breath was more of a sob. Christ, he was going to fucking fly off his nut up here while everyone else was downstairs celebrating. A brief pang of sadness and resentment flavoured the anxiety and his chest tightened further. 

He actually yelped when he felt sudden pressure on his shoulder. He leapt back as he whirled, his eyes wide in his panic, before he could actually focus somewhat on the Stig. "I - I -" What the fucking hell was wrong with him? He couldn't even spit out the simplest of sentences! He could feel his face and neck flush in mortification.

***

The Stig held his hands out in a placating gesture as he watched Richard's wide eyes and panicked breathing. Once he was sure that Richard knew him, he took a step toward the shaking man, hoping Richard wouldn't bolt. He took another step, the tips of his outstretched gloved fingers brushing against Hammond's arm but not closing, just stroking lightly. Richard looked down at where the glove was moving up and down against the long-sleeved undershirt before looking back up, trying to somehow meet his eyes behind the black visor. The Stig knew he had to make more of a connection and he couldn't bloody do it behind a mask and gloves. He stroked down Hammond's arm once more and then used the slightest pressure to indicate that Richard should stay put.

***

Richard tried to concentrate on the Stig's light touches, thankful that the driver had found him and seemed to have some sort of idea as to how to help. He felt the slight increase of pressure on his arm and looked back down at where the glove was two shades darker than his shirt before it was taken away. Fucking hell, he could notice the difference between fucking _whites_ but he couldn't calm himself - _brilliant_ , Hammond. Magnificent be _yond_ measure, you ridiculous _twat_. His self-directed mental diatribe was cut short by a ripping sound and his head jerked up as it was repeated. Suddenly he was looking into green-grey eyes as two gloveless hands removed the white helmet.

Richard watched the Stig pull off his cowl and tuck it into the helmet along with the gloves before leaning over and setting them on the floor. Next thing Richard was aware of was warm and calloused hands pressing his palms together and gently chafing the backs of his hands. He tried to look back up at the Stig's face but he couldn't seem to tear himself away from the sight of the larger hands completely covering his, how warm the Stig's skin was compared to his.

***

In other circumstances, the Stig might have found Richard's fascination with his hands amusing, but at this moment, it worried him. He knew Hammond needed something to focus on but the Stig wanted it to be his face, not his hands. He gave one more rub to Richard's chilled hands and then he lifted his hands to cup Richard's face.

***

Richard was startled by the light touch on his face and his eyes flew up to meet the Stig's - the _Stig's_ \- steady gaze. He was looking at the man's _face_ , could see the subtle shift from light to darker green in the eyes as the calmness was joined by something he couldn't pin down. "S-Stig?"

"It'll be all right, just focus on me for now."

The Stig's voice was a clear tenor. For some reason, Richard had imagined it would be deeper. He blinked and gave a jerky nod.

"Breathe with me."

Breathe with him? Richard narrowed his eyes and tried to concentrate, but he couldn't slow down to match Stig's deep, even breathing. His eyebrows drew down in frustration and the beginnings of fear. "Can't."

"Yes, you can," Stig said, his voice low and even. He began to gently rub Richard's temples. "Just watch me and breathe, yeah?"

Richard nodded and kept his eyes fixed on the Stig's face as he tried again. It took a few minutes of the Stig practically crooning to him whilst rubbing soothing circles at his temples for Richard to get any kind of handle on his breathing. It was still a bit fast, but at least he wasn't panting or heading straight for hyperventilation anymore.

Then, the Stig slid one hand down the side of Richard's face, and stroked a thumb over the corner of his mouth. Richard's breath caught in his throat at the touch, then rushed out in a stuttering exhale as the Stig slowly leaned down and in, his face coming closer until it finally clicked in Richard's head that he was about to be kissed - by their tame racing driver. He couldn't seem to move, either toward or away from the Stig, and he had no idea at that moment which he truly wanted anyway. He felt the first soft, tentative brush of lips against his and sighed.

***

The Stig continued feathering soft kisses over Richard's mouth - only the slightest of contact, barely enough to generate friction; just enough to keep Richard's attention but not overwhelm. He very much wanted to increase the pressure, to slide his tongue between Richard's slightly parted lips and _taste_ , but this wasn't about him and he was already skating the edge between doing everything possible to help and taking advantage of the situation. With a sigh of his own, he pulled back enough to look at Richard's face.

"All right?"

"You...you kissed me."

"Had to get your mind off the matter, Hammond."

Richard blinked up at him.

"It worked, didn't it?"

"I would say so," Richard agreed, wide eyes searching the Stig's face.

Can't let him figure you out, my son, the Stig thought to himself, you choose to wear a mask and be mysterious for a living for a reason.

"We should probably get back downstairs, yeah? Someone comes up here and sees us like this, there'll be quite some explaining to do," he said nonchalantly as he stepped back from Richard and bent down to pull his cowl out from the helmet. He took one last measuring look at Hammond to make sure the man was well under control. "Go on, then," he said softly as he pulled the cowl on, settling it round his face and neck. "I'll be down in a tick."

***

Richard came down the stairs, thankful that no one seemed to really notice him come back into the room. He glanced at the clock and was shocked at the time. Christ, had he really only been gone for ten minutes? It had felt an absolute eternity!

"Hammond!" Jeremy shouted, crossing the room and pulling him up into another hug, this one having been fueled by the bottles of champers that Richard had carefully not partaken of.

Richard couldn't help but laugh at Clarkson's exuberance, and returned the embrace, glad to be grounded by the bigger man. Suddenly he wondered why the Stig hadn't done this - held him. Then Jeremy was putting him back a step and grinning down at him. "You did it!"

"Did what? Wrecked the car in a bid to lose us everything?"

Jeremy laughed. "That, too, you twat. But I meant the race itself, the track - all of it."

Richard could feel his face flushing. "Yes, well, not much choice, mate. But, thanks."

Jeremy squeezed his shoulders and then was off to be loudly affectionate with some other poor soul. Richard looked around and saw James across the room, his face curiously blank. That wasn't right - when Richard had left, James had been as celebratory as everyone else. Now he looked like - well, he looked to Richard like he'd gotten some bad news but hadn't shared it with anyone else so as not to bring down the mood. Richard frowned and crossed the room.

"All right, May?"

James blinked and focussed on Richard, his eyes widening before he seemed to catch himself.

"James?"

"Hammond."

There was a strange pause wherein James looked at everything but him, and then he closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he managed to meet Richard's concerned gaze. "Can you believe we actually did it?" He looked and sounded tired.

"If I'm honest? No," Richard admitted, shrugging when James' eyebrows rose. "I was scared off my head the entire time, James."

"You still carried through for us, though," James said quietly, laying a hand on Richard's shoulder awkwardly.

"Yes, all the way into the pits with a very nearly ruined car."

"Stop it, Rich," James said, squeezing his shoulder before pulling his hand away. "We all had our mishaps out there."

Richard nodded, grimacing. Yes, they'd all had their own mishaps, but he'd nearly managed to bollocks up the whole deal.

"I feel fairly responsible for it, actually."

Richard's eyes flew back up to James'. "How do you mean?"

"Well, if I'd not fucked up on my qualifier, you'd have had time to learn the track before it got dark and maybe..." he trailed off, his hand lifting in a "who knows' gesture.

"No good second-guessing now. It's done and - somehow - we came out ahead," Richard said, shrugging. A small smile appeared on his face. "We were ambitious and not quite rubbish," he added mischievously.

James snorted softly, his face relaxing a bit. Richard still wasn't sure what was going on, but he was pleased to see an almost-smile curving James' lips, and his own smile widened into a grin, his dimples coming out to play as he looked up at his friend.

**

The Stig moved silently down the stairs, his gaze stuck on Richard smiling up at James. He should be glad that Hammond could smile at all right now, not feeling the burn of jealousy that it wasn't _him_ that Richard was looking at that way. He wondered if Richard would ever look at him and smile like that or if he'd ruined his chances.


End file.
